


It's Exactly What It Looks Like

by KissTheBoy7



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Casual Sex, Frottage, M/M, Voyeurism, okay sort of voyeurism i mean combeferre is just kind of there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissTheBoy7/pseuds/KissTheBoy7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has amazing composure. Grantaire doesn't care as long as he doesn't push him out of his lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Exactly What It Looks Like

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink prompt here: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11823.html?thread=3964975#t3964975

"'Pollo," R mumbles, falling into the younger student's lap without chagrin. Enjolras pauses mid-sentence, swiveling away from Combeferre long enough to frown in disapproval even as one of his arms comes around to prevent him from falling.

"Not now, Grantaire." To be fair, he can't really blame Grantaire - for once, he's not the most intoxicated person in the room. Bahorel is already throwing up in Joly's bathroom and Joly himself is far too high on whatever aforementioned fistfighter has thought it would be funny to have him smoke to bat an eye. But Grantaire, habitually drunk, always disappoints him just a little. He knows that it's unreasonable to think that just because they were having sex that Grantaire would give up his drinking, or anything at all really. Was his penis worth that? Really? Probably not. It just seems like Grantaire would see it that way. 

He shakes his head in mild irritation as he turns back over his shoulder to the conversation at hand. Combeferre, to his credit, doesn't say a word at the way Grantaire has maneuvered to straddle his lap. "What was I saying?"

"About the Pride parade on Saturday?" the dusty-haired law student replies, sipping at a wine cooler. He's probably the soberest person in the room and he'll probably be driving three quarters of the people in this apartment home at four in the morning. Enjolras would feel bad, but Grantaire is whispering in his ear, breath hot and damp, "I wanna suck you off."

"No, Grantaire," he replies without gritting his teeth, although it's a struggle. There's a hot length jabbing him in the stomach and he feels a brief stirring in return, adding to his irritation. The arm around him tightens just slightly. "Right. Like I said. There are a lot of kids in the suburbs who want to go. They just can't find transportation. Too young to drive, or their parents don't want them going to the city alone. What if-"

"Enjolras, you can't just kidnap a bunch of fifteen year olds." Combeferre sighs. He scowls in return, ignoring Grantaire's hitched breath as he rolls his hips down against his thigh. His cock jumps, but he's too absorbed in conversation to stop now.

"It's not  _kidnapping._  Obviously we'd have to ask their parents first."

"Enjolras," R whimpers, fingers digging into his shoulders as he spreads his legs as wide as they will go. The tent in his jeans rubs insistently down against Enjolras' own half-hard erection.

Combeferre is shaking his head, looking at him with a quirk of something like restrained amusement to his lips. They both studiously ignore Grantaire's shivering and moaning in his lap. "I know you, Julien," he reminds him, tipping the cooler towards him pointedly. "We don't have time for that kind of organization anyways. It's a week away, and most of the kids have exams. High schoolers, remember?"

Enjolras' eyes have that manic gleam to them, though, and he's not giving up that easily. How much of it can be attributed to Grantaire's minute movements on top of him is unknown. He strokes at the small of his back discreetly, encouraging him, lifting his hips just slightly to press back upwards against him and Grantaire bites his neck to muffle a startled moan. "Their parents won't miss them for a couple of hours on a Saturday."

"I can't do this," the other man protests, glancing to where Jehan has begun loudly singing along to some country song on the radio that someone had thought it was a good idea to start blasting half an hour ago, his head in Courfeyrac's lap. "You know I can't. If you want to spend a night in a cell, have at it, but you know I can't."

"All I need is to borrow the car," he wheedles. His voice is steady but his cock is throbbing with his elevated pulse, trapped in his jeans, and Grantaire is panting in his ear and he might actually go mad beneath all of this composure because  _fuck, ugh, Enjolras, y're so hot, please-_

Combeferre hesitates, but Grantaire's hips have started jerking desperately as he grinds down and he doesn't think he particularly wants to see him finish. He concedes at last, as he always does, with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Okay. You can borrow the car - but for God's sake don't get pulled over, I don't need anyone to know I've lent you my license."

"I swear I'll get my own. Soon. Eventually." Licking his lips, Enjolras turns at last to Grantaire, presuming their conversation over. He nips at his ear and breathes, grinding back up against him. "Close?"

The bespectacled man takes this as his cue and swiftly takes his leave, padding off to check on his incapacitated friend in the bathroom. Enjolras slips a hand between them to find its way up under his not-really-boyfriend's shirt, smoothing up the skin of his stomach and brushing a thumb purposefully over his nipple.

Grantaire makes a choked noise and his hips stutter, once, twice, and there's a massive damp patch because he'd apparently decided again to go commando rather than do the laundry, and his cock is hot and hard against his thigh and he licks at his neck, and says conversationally, "So, about that blowjob."


End file.
